


Restraint

by Misdays



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-20 12:24:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2428661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misdays/pseuds/Misdays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All it really takes to break a man's resolve is one too many drinks and an offhand comment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restraint

**Author's Note:**

> Written for punkfenris @ tumblr.
> 
> I hope this is everything you wanted it to be. :)

“I swear, you're only one argument away from _finishing each other off_ in the privy.”

 

Isabela takes another swig of her drink, grinning into the swill. The more of it she drinks, the less of a face she makes as it hits her tongue. She shoots a glance at Varric and he returns it with a knowing smile and a point of his finger. Maker knows what they'll both come up with in their journals later,

 

“It's very dirty in the privy, though, isn't it? Why would they go there unless they had to-”

 

“Never mind, Daisy.”

 

People are packed in the Hanged Man so tightly tonight it was amazing there was any drink still flowing, at least considering the rate that Hawke was downing it and the pained expression that had just now appeared on Fenris' face.

Over time, the size of their outings gradually decreased. Aveline had – sensibly – abandoned them long ago and Sebastian never invited himself, one of his more reasonable decisions. It took place every free night. They found – or made – an awful lot of them recently. Taking everything into account that was happening tonight, Anders wondered why he still forced himself to suffer through it, knowing that he had no choice but to remain stone cold sober,

 

“Another round?!”

 

Hawke's booming voice cuts through the noise of the crowd, causing an eruption of cheers and unintelligible drunken comments – most coming from Isabela. Anders catches Fenris' glance for a second and he looks even more out of place and uncomfortable than he always does, but he raises his cup with just as much enthusiasm as the sailors and vagrants that fill the room.

Somehow, Fenris finds the liquor palatable, but he flinches at the way Hawke's roar of a laugh seems to shake the foundations of the building and tries his hardest to ignore whatever everyone's choosing to run their mouths about. He looks like he needs nothing more than to be utterly caught up in the intricacies of his own world, swirling his drink around in his cup and gazing into it like he'll see something other than his own muddied reflection,

 

“Hawke? Do you really want to be a dragon?”

 

“Mmm, he's already a dragon between the sheets, Kitten...”

 

The comment doesn't hold enough meaning on its own for a severely inebriated Isabela's standards, so she pushes the whole length of her body along Hawke, who scoops her up in his arms. Practically falling on the seat, they're laughing and kissing and making all sorts of lewd noises, then collapsing on Fenris' lap. He leans as far away from the pair as his body physically allows, still scowling and looking somewhere distinctly not here.

As calm and reserved as Fenris always was, he lets the distress show on his face so clearly tonight, it's not just the constant flow of cheap alcohol or the behaviour of everyone sitting around him, it's something not yet concrete. It fascinates Anders, the strangeness of uncertainty in Fenris' face adds a particular quality that Anders can't quite place. He can't help but stare and wait for the world to drown out, just watch the minute changes playing on his soft features,

 

“Who wants to bet I can down this whole keg?!”

 

Lifting Isabela in his arms, Hawke stands up to his full height and screams not to the heavens, but to the rickety ceiling above, everyone else joining him hurriedly, throwing bits and poor imitations his way. It draws Anders out of his overblown imagination and shocks him to the core, he quickly closes his eyes and soon tries to find something static to focus on. He finds Fenris, looking at him just as intently as Anders was not moments ago.

Fenris stares straight through the rows of people standing in front of him, his muted green eyes fixed solely on Anders' own. With a small nod, he stands up from his chair and immediately disappears into the room, his departure signalled by an icy draft rushing past Anders' feet. Before he can even consider the potential consequences of his actions, Anders finds himself decidedly marching out of the inn.

There's a certain safety found in the furthest reaches of society, he manages to slip through the crowd completely unnoticed, either no one seeing him or no one caring enough to make more of it that it appeared to be. The cool night air slices into Anders' skin, biting at his fingers and the tip of his nose and causing his eyes to dry up a little. He rubs them with his palms and sighs, clenching his fists until he sees the flashing lights, waiting until he acclimatizes to the onslaught of new sensations.

Coming to the horrible realization that there was now someone standing directly in-front of him.

Fenris' gaze is disarming, wild and unbelievably intense. It transfixes Anders just long enough for Fenris to fully grab hold of the feathered mantle of his coat and slam him into the walls of the nearest alleyway.

Kirkwall becomes hardly more than a blur of dark, star-speckled skies and soft, white hair brushing against Anders' skin, everything is scented like winter and musk and spices and all Anders can feel is heat from plump lips and almost too-sharp teeth.

Fenris kisses Anders' body like he wants him to _hurt_ , like he wants him to suffer for having eyes and lips and a beating heart,

 

“Wh-... What in Andraste's name are you doing?!”

 

"An experiment."

 

 “Are you trying to fuck me or kill me?!”

 

Saying it like he expects an answer does him no favours, he gets a nip at the nape of his neck and another push against the wall instead, forcing his head to roll back and hit the dusty bricks behind him,

 

“I'll gladly take whichever happens first.”

 

With his lips pressed to Anders' throat, Fenris' words reverberate through every reach of Anders' body, his hips involuntarily jerking forward in a desperate attempt to feel some kind of friction, some pressure to alleviate the newly developed ache in his cock.

Anders searches for long-lost words and tries his hardest to string together meaningless syllables that get translated into overly loud whimpers and moans. Fenris slides his hands down Anders' body, pinning his arms to the wall and surging upwards to meet his eyes,

  
“Do not make more of this than it is.”

 

With those words, Fenris finally grants Anders the pleasure of a real kiss. He knows it's intended as nothing more than a temporary occupation for his mouth, something to stop him from ruining the scarcity of a carelessly considered private moment. But Fenris kisses with such fervour and _so deeply_ that it damn near makes Anders forget what his feet are for.

Anders can only hope to return even a measure of the passion that Fenris openly gives to him, but he tries so hard to fight past all the built-up exhaustion and frustration welling inside of his body, Fenris finds the kiss nothing short of perfect. The way Fenris buckles a little and meets the arch of Anders' hips in response gives him all the energy and encouragement he needs.

If there's one thing Anders loves, it's to tease his lovers to the point that all their defences have no choice but to break, and Fenris has always been a man of subtlety, restraint and calculated grace. With a smirk pressed against a closed mouth, Anders runs his tongue along Fenris' lower lip and bites down into the deliciously swollen flesh. The groan Fenris chokes out is stilted and sharply punctuated by fingernails dragging down Anders' collarbone.

The little taste that Anders managed to steal was not enough, not by far. Pushing his luck, he darts his tongue between Fenris' teeth, curling the tip around Fenris' own. He buckles again, but Anders catches his hips and draws him close, pressing his already-hard cock flush against Fenris' abdomen.

Hissing his breath and peppering kisses along Fenris' jawline, Anders traces the tip of his tongue down the bright lines of Lyrium markings running down his neck and pulling at armour in a fruitless attempt to get as close as he possibly can. The overload of sensations causes Fenris to abandon his few remaining inhibitions, he slips his fingertips down into Anders' breeches and stretches them to fit tightly against the outline of his cock, straining against his underclothes. Anders shuts his eyes _so tightly_ , brows knitting and lips parting just far enough for Fenris to capture them again, not intending for that perfect mouth to be underutilized for a single second.

Fenris pulls away from Anders just long enough to breathe a single sentence against his skin,

 

“Get on your knees.”

 

What choice does he have but to happily comply? Fenris slowly releases the grasp on Anders' cock, he sucks air through his teeth and bows down, settling on his knees and rocking into a comfortable position.

It seems like it takes forever for Fenris to unbuckle and unclasp all the necessary catches, but he eventually lifts his armour up and pulls his leggings down far enough to give Anders unrestricted access to his underclothes and everything beautiful beneath them.

Anders can hardly press his fingers to the fabric fast enough, he hooks them into the cloth and pulls it down to get a full view. He's already hard, cut and marked with Lyrium drawing up to the tip, a little smaller than Anders' own, but nothing anyone could scoff at. With soft hands pressed to Fenris' hips, Anders takes his cock in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip and sucking ever so gently at the slit, lapping up every last drop of pre-cum.

Fenris' skilled hands quickly find their way into Anders' hair, releasing the tie and threading long fingers into blonde waves. Allowing himself to forget everything aside from the sheer heat of Anders' mouth and the distant sound of the ocean's ripples that he follows rhythmically with every bob of his head. Daring to make Fenris push him further, gazing up through dark eyelashes and smirking, grinning and _sucking_ like he's never wanted anything more in his life than for Fenris to burst into a fit of rage and lust and unbridled _want_.

Growling, Fenris grips Anders' fine hair at the root and thrusts as deep as he can take. Anders hums and widens his eyes in response, just a hint of a smile on his lips, swallowing Fenris' cock down and sweeping his tongue along the underside. He treats it like it's some sort of ritual, something to cherished and savoured. His honey-coloured eyes are dark, barely focused and just tilting upwards to meet Fenris' own, pale green like frost layered on fresh Sping grass, bordering the deep black pools of his dilated pupils.

He's the most beautiful thing Anders has ever seen.

With every shallow breath that Fenris manages to find, Anders draws his head back and forth, licking rings around the head, tracing the colourful veins and paths of white Lyriym that make the prettiest patterns in stark contrast to Fenris' dark skin. He eventually intends to kiss each and every one of them.

The metallic hint of Lyrium on Anders' tongue is intoxicating, he finds it borderline impossible to not take in as much of it as he can at any given moment. Planting light kisses and experimental tasting is not adequate, he wants to – _needs to_ envelop himself in it, overloading every nerve and flooding his senses. Tightening his grasp on Fenris' hips and sliding his fingers along the Lyrium curving around the bone, he pulls him closer and takes every last inch of Fenris' cock, Anders' moan causing pulses to charge through his body.

Savouring the overwhelm, Anders curls and rolls his tongue around each vertical line, pressing his lips down hard around the base and humming against the tip pushed at the entrance of his throat. Fenris bends forwards and cups Anders' face with cold hands, stroking his neck and pulling at loose strands of soft hair. He starts to sweat, shake, swallow to hold back his groans. Relentlessly, he slides Fenris' cock all the way in and out of his mouth in a desperate attempt to refresh and strengthen the flavour of Lyrium. He sucks like it's become his sole devotion to draw Fenris' climax from him as quickly and exquisitely as he can.

Anders closes his eyes tight, arms wrapped around Fenris' waist and squeezing his ribs. He pulls away so that Fenris' cock is almost completely out of his mouth, opening his eyes and meeting Fenris' own heavy lidded gaze. Curving the corners of his lips upwards, he moves his mouth downwards and just barely flicks his tongue at the slit of his cock.

Fenris' climax courses through his body, every vein throbbing and all the stars falling from the sky, settling behind his eyes instead. In that moment, he wants nothing more than to sink into the comfort and pleasure that Anders willingly gives him. Pushing his cock to the curve in Anders' tongue, he grips the feathered mantle on Anders' shoulders. He smiles as he swallows and rubs his thumbs in patternless circles on Fenris' armour.

He releases the grip on Anders' hair, pulling out of his mouth and feeling the cold night air brush against his spit-slicked cock. Laughing quietly, Anders wipes his mouth and shakes his hair out, looking up at Fenris' afterglow softened features, mouth agape, brows furrowed and a single bead of sweat just short of dripping from the point of his nose. With a few cracks of his tired bones, Anders stands up and kisses the droplet, then the bridge, stopping at the fine lines between his brows.

Fenris tucks himself away and buckles his armour, he doesn't meet Anders eyes again. Gaze cast downwards, focusing on the few rocks scattered on the dirt path,

  
“We should move on.”

 

_That old line_.

He uses his line on Anders after...

Something inside Anders _hurts_ from it, deeper than desire or arrogance or the ache of neglect in his cock. Fenris doesn't seem to notice, maybe even care, he simply disappears around the corner and leaves a trail of kicked-up dust in his wake,

 

“That's it? Really? You seriously have nothing else to say?”

 

He opens the path to a very long period of silence, with no evidence to suggest that Anders should continue to wait for an answer,

  
“We'll do this again tomorrow.”

  
“That works for me.”

 

Anders' response is directed at no one in particular, he knows Fenris has gone back inside by now, but it's somehow comforting to say the words instead of just thinking them. There's not much else for him to do but return to the Hanged Man, smile plastered on his face as walks in and notices Fenris' retreat to the darkest corner in the room, bright red blush and self-satisfied flash of white teeth brightening up the bitter atmosphere.

He gives Anders a reason to love these long nights.


End file.
